


Tether

by delphically



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, more tags will be added as needed, needed some background adashi for my soul, other characters might show up, there won't be pottery making i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-08 03:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16421228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphically/pseuds/delphically
Summary: There is just one problem in Lance's life, that problem being that he's dead--and can't remember much outside of knowing of Havana and the beaches of Varadero. You know, small details. But all of his problems could be solved when he runs into a necromancer--who can't touch him. Because apparently everyone he's known and loved in his life has either forgotten him or passed on themselves. But something's keeping him here.Okay so maybe it's a lot more than /one/ problem.





	1. Ever get the feeling that you're never all alone?

"So you can't bring me back?"

Words spoken so softly, shaking with hurt and heartbreak as ghostly hands wrap around himself. How was that possible? The man before him was _supposed_ to be able to help him, to be able to bring him back, bind him to the living and allow him time to be. That was the deal that the Council of Duat agreed to when they gave the ability to raise the dead. He drew into himself more, sinking down to crouch towards the ground. He doesn't remember how he arrived in the alley, doesn't remember how he managed to get the necromancer's attention -- doesn't remember how he knew this particular person is a necromancer. It's all a blur, head spinning as he tries to think. The denial that Lance couldn't be brought back settled in his soul, ready to lash out any way possible.

"You're a necromancer." He bites out bitterly. "You can do it!"

"I can't."

Stern, violet eyes gaze down at him. He could barely look up, pity looming just beyond his gaze. How _dare_ he pity him. He grits his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn't be serious, could he? He is a Necromancer! It's his _job_ to do these sorts of tasks!

"Why the hell not?"

"No one remembers you." The necromancer says flatly, crossing his arms. "If you haven't passed on then something might still tie you here, but the fact that _I_ can't touch you well... there's nothing I can do."

Everything Lance knew about life and death to that point came crashing down on him. His mother had once told him that as long as someone remembers him, he would continue to live on in the afterlife while they sat in the cemetery in Havana praying for his great grandmother's happiness. How long had he been dead for his family to forget him? How long was he trapped along the shores of Varadero waiting for the first person to find him? 

He was a long way from Cuba.

He takes a minute to compose himself, reeling back the emotions that threatened to lash out against the young necromancer before him. Lance stands slowly, keeping his hands against his arms as he looks over at the other man in the alley. He looked fairly young, which might have been the most surprising thing about him, with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. He wore a cowl-neck black sweater that covered a majority of his arms, and as his eyes roamed down he noticed that his hand was beckoning him back up.

"Okay, ghostie. So you want me to bring you back, we need to figure out what is keeping you tied here." He's harsh, sneering as he speaks. "So either you tell me your name so I can write a contract, or you can float off and wander around the States a little more, lost."

"Woah, hold up. So I'm in the U.S.? Like America?" He rubs his face. This can't be happening. "Ugh, how the hell did I get here?"

"I mean, you are a ghost." 

"Oh shut up! Okay, fine. Lance. My name is Lance."

"Lance. Arm." He reaches into a leather pouch to produce a long, thin needle-like instrument.

"What is that?"

"Scribe. It's how we-- wait you know I'm a necromancer but don't know about the Scribe?" 

"No?! No no no no no no. I am not giving you my arm."

"Lance."

"No-- Like hell whatever the hell your name is."

"Fine. Then I hope you enjoy your personal purgatory."

He shrugs, before putting the Scribe away and turning on his heel to leave. Was this guy serious? Lance shifted his weight (not that he really had any weight to shift, ugh being a ghost was WEIRD) before he rushes after the strange necromancer. He did, after all, proposition him to help him out of this predicament. He might as well _try_ and trust him. Lance scrambles after him, moving in front of him to try and stop him from leaving.

"Okay! Okay okay. Uh--" He blinks, realizing he never got his name.

"Keith." 

" _Keith_. Fine. Here." He shoves his arm at him, turning his head.

"Good." Keith takes a deep breath, carefully pulling the Scribe out again and barely touching it to Lance's forearm. "我は汝…汝は我…我は汝の心の海より出ずる者…" 

In a flurry of color, Lance is surrounded by what he's pretty sure to be words. He doesn't recognize a single one, chalking it up to where Keith had learned his craft from. It swirls around him, stunning him as the Scribe actually _pierces_ his skin, silver lettering appearing with every stroke Keith takes to form the contract. Lance can't help but stare, wide-eyed as he sees his translucent, ghostly form gain back some of the colors he had lost over time. And just like that? It dies off, leaving the two of them standing there, the Scribe lifted off his skin.

"You have blue eyes." Keith manages to say, surprised by the fact before he turns from him to start walking out of the alley.

"Wait-- where are you going?"

"We'll go back to my place and start piecing together your memories. I have a friend who can help. After that, we'll go to the last known place you were alive and...well see if we can bring you back."

"Seriously? That's it?" He rubs the back of his head, trailing after him. "Great! So where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there."

Lance scoffs, pouting as he follows behind Keith. Gosh, he was grumpy, wasn't he? Couldn't he cheer up a bit? At least he was contracted ( _Whatever that means._ ) and he was going to fix this little problem of his. That's all that mattered. He soon finds himself distracted, finally taking in the sights around him. The clouded sky kept the city in shade, the air cool enough for everyone to need a jacket. Seagulls fluttered above him, chirping as they sailed towards their destination (the old lady on the bench holding a bag of peas, smiling as pigeons and seagulls hop over to her), and everything felt foreign. Like something out of a movie he remembers seeing as a child. He catches Keith turning a corner, and rushes to catch up--

\--Tripping through a passerby.

"Woah. Shit, I'm sorry." He starts to apologize.

"Jesus it's cold. Come on, let's hurry up and get inside." The woman shivers more and rushes off with her companion.

"What just..."

"No one can see you." Keith interrupts him, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "With how long you've been a ghost, I don't know how you didn't realize that. You're just a chilling feeling or a cool breeze to them."

"Can...anyone but you see me?"

"Necromancers, other ghosts, vampires -- pretty much the supernatural and those who are attuned to it." He rolls his eyes. "So, keep up. We have a few more blocks to go."

Keith doesn't slow down, walking around a couple pushing a stroller. He's determined to get to their destination without distraction, but Lance? Lance can't help but want to look at everything they pass. The apartments that look vaguely Victorian, the rush of cars as they speed by-- it wasn't like Havana was it? Was it? His brows knit in confusion, stopping on the corner by the Chevron gas station in thought. Havana and Varadero Beach are the only names he really remembers. Did it have something to do with how long he's been dead? 

Nevertheless, he couldn't focus on that for now. Keith was stepping off the curb and walking through the crosswalk towards Twin Peaks Tavern and he had to rush to follow. There were too many noises, too many things to see and experience that distracted him. Lance turns his back on his new angry friend, stepping back only to end up passing through Keith. He cringes, watching him visibly shudder, drawing in on himself before shooting the Cuban ghost a sharp glare.

"Be careful." He snaps, waiting for his teeth to stop chattering.

"Sorry," Lance mutters, frowning. "Okay, so can I ask you a couple of questions?"

"Fine."

"Where are we?" He motions around them, turning to inspect the intersection again. 

"Castro and Market." 

"That's not what I asked and you know it."

"Ugh. San Francisco, California. We're in the Castro district. Now we have places to be." He motions for Lance to follow, but stops when he notices his incredulous expression. "Now what?"

"Okay I mean, I have to trust you but can you promise me something?" 

"Will it get you to stop acting like a moron and stopping every ten minutes?"

Lance crosses his arms, raising his eyebrow. 

"Yes! Fine, what do you want me to promise to." Keith throws his hands up, exasperated by how insistent he is.

"You'll tell me everything? Like actually explain it?"

"... that's kind of the point? Yeah just... come on. Let's go before I start drawing attention for _talking to myself_." Keith ends up whispering harshly. 

Much to Keith's relief, Lance agrees and they start down Castro Street avoiding pedestrians and, to his credit, Lance was doing his best not to get too distracted. Especially as they passed the Castro theatre, advertising movies like Jaws and Star Wars (it looked like they were doing some events too, but Lance quickly ignored the flyers someone was handing out). Keith waves a little at a few of the local business owners, trying to avoid too much conversation as he turns left down 18th street to a small gated door. 

"Your friend lives here?" He remarks as Keith moves to unlock the door.

"Yeah. He says it's because this is where the magic feels best but I think it's because there are a few shops on Haight-Ashbury that can get a lot of what he needs no questions asked." 

"That doesn't sound sketchy at all." Lance passes through the door, following Keith upstairs as he shuts the gate behind him. 

The sudden wave of _quiet_ washes over him, unnerving Lance as he follows Keith up the stairs. This wasn't a normal apartment, was it? He hugs himself, carefully moving behind Keith they made their way up to the top floor. At the landing, Keith reaches into the leather pouch once more. He holds a small bottle of water, pouring a small amount into his hand before flicking it out towards the hall. The air around them felt heavy, wrapping around them as if it was sentient, reaching out to caress their faces. 

Keith smirks, taking the first step across the landing, walking slowly down the hall. The hall was filled with the smell of vanilla and sage -- humming with energy. Despite his confidence in being there, he appeared cautious, clutching the bottle of water to his chest. He takes a deep breath as he arrives at apartment 306, taking a moment to make sure Lance was still following behind him.

"Whatever you do, let me do the talking." Keith reaches out to knock on the door.

Oh god, what could that mean?

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" They could hear someone call from inside the apartment. Heavy footsteps followed before the door swings open. "Oh, Keith. What did you do?"


	2. I'm just a long-gone memory

"Get inside." The older man lowers his voice, clearly agitated as he motions for the two boys to walk in.

It takes a moment for them to scramble inside, Keith clearly avoiding a disappointed gaze. Lance sticks close behind, trying to figure out exactly how they managed to get into this mess and who this guy was. Not that he knew anything about himself, but it was the thought that counted, right? The older gentleman was tall, with dark skin and dusty blond hair. His honey-brown eyes clearly had some fondness in them for Keith, but his current gaze was everything but kind at that moment. He was clearly unprepared for guests as he was simply in a pair of worn sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt that didn't appear to belong to him.

Keith motions for Lance to sit at the table, still avoiding Adam's stern gaze as he takes his seat across from them.

"Look. Adam--"

"Keith we talked about this." He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying everything in his power to keep himself calm. "You really need more training before you take on contracts."

"I _need_ this contract! The coven keeps pushing off my first contract and he needs help! He doesn't remember anything and something is keeping him _here_."

Adam takes a deep breath, looking over at the young ghost that Keith had managed to drag out of the alley. He looked roughly about the same age as Keith, short brown hair, blue eyes, dark skin, dressed casually as if he had just spent the day on the beach. With a heavy sigh, he rubs his face, adjusting his glasses as he leans forward.

"What's your name?" He asks, rubbing his chin.

"Uh-Lance. My name is Lance." 

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Lance blinked, knitting his brows in thought. What was the last thing he remembered? He looks down at his knees, to his hands resting there, trying to recall anything from his life that he could. He remembers the breeze, the salt that carried through it, the clear blue water that crashed upon the beach. It was calming, recalling the ocean water, the laughter he must have shared with friends he can't put faces to. He taps his foot anxiously, wanting to get up and move and get far, far away from here.

"Lance?" Adam notices his uneasiness and offers him a kind smile. "It's okay if you don't know everything. Just tell me what you do remember."

"I remember the beach." He mutters, drawing further in on himself. "The ocean. The sun-- it's... I guess Varadero? It's all I remember."

"Cuba. You remember a place in Cuba but you're in San Francisco?" Adam taps his chin, before looking over at Keith quizzically.

"Adam." Keith starts. "That's weird, right? He should be in Cuba. His memory is tied to Cuba--"

"We don't know that for certain."

"If he doesn't know anything else, then it has to be the case!" The younger necromancer groans. "Please. I'm begging you. Let me do this."

The older of the two frowns, standing and quickly moving from the table. This was not how he wanted to spend his day -- helping his charge or his contract. It was supposed to be a nice quiet day in dealing with his own work-- he sighs heavily, staring at the bookshelf in the living room. His runs his fingers along the shelf, muttering to himself the various ingredients and vials as he searches for what he's been looking for. After a moment, he pulls down a mason jar, turning it over in his hand before he walks back over to the table. He sets it down, taking a seat across from Lance once more. 

"In order to pull more information, we'll need to draw it out of his subconscious -- if he has any left tied to this world." Adam pulls his glasses off his face to clean them. "In order to do that, we need to put his spirit into a sleep-like state which is a very complicated spell that you are in no way ready to perform."

"Hey--"

"I know you need this contract, Keith." Adam interrupts, his glasses back on his face as he levels him with a stern look. "So this will be the only help I offer you."

The younger necromancer sags with relief, taking a moment to consider this option. He looks at Lance, and he knows he's right. This ghost shouldn't be here if his last memories were in Cuba; there was something fishy about the situation, and either Lance was lying to him (and he'd break his contract) or there was more to it than meets the eye.

He hoped it was the latter. 

"Okay. I'll take the help." Violet eyes blazing with determination. "I'll handle it after this."

"Your contract is bound until you either release him to pass on or until you find what ties him to this world to pull him back. Do you understand the stakes of failing either of these things?"

"Yes."

Lance is shocked by his lack of hesitation, how he's rushing forward with this without knowing anything about him. He's honestly touched he would do something like this for a stranger. Was it just the right thing to do or was there something more? He chews on his lip, watching as Keith stares down his mentor, then his eyes dart to Adam's hands as they slowly open the jar. Smoke flows down over the lip, floating over the wood table to the floor. Rising from the jar is a large, black leech, squirming its way to escape before Adam pinches it by the skin and removes it from the jar.

"Gross." Lance winces, unable to hide his disgust. "Why are you keeping a leech in a jar dude?"

Adam smiles but doesn't respond to his question. He sets the leech down on the table, before reaching to pull his own Scribe from his coat pocket. His eyes glaze over, almost as if a white film was covering them as he slowly starts to speak. Lance blinks in confusion, looking to Keith for any sort of help but Keith is watching wide-eyed, curious to know what Adam is doing. A loud thud pulls Lance back to the older necromancer. The leech squirms wildly, his Scribe piercing its body as it flails against the wood table. Adam moves to pick up the jar, holding it above the leech's body before dumping the contents upon in.

Lance watches in horror as water and blood ooze down onto the leech. Thick and dark, the blood coats the leech as it continues to flail, splattering the contents erratically around it. He's very, very happy he's currently a ghost or he's pretty sure he'd vomit right then. How could Keith continue to watch in rapt fascination? He covers his face, but unable to tear his gaze away as he peeks through his fingers at the sight before him. The Scribe is slowly pulled out of the creature, just enough for the tip to remain inside and slowly rend it in two. 

It slowly stops moving, body sliced in halves as blood pours out of the body-- along with a cloud of dense, gray smoke. It floats above the now dead leech like pollen, wisps cautiously reaching out towards Lance trying to beckon him closer. With a flick of his wrist, Adam flicks blood and the smoke at Lance, managing to cover his face and cause him to take a breath -- both things Lance didn't think were possible.

"Not cool!" Lance shouts, but his eyelids grow heavy and it's only a matter of seconds before he's slumped over the table.

"Quick. Move the chair and table. We'll assist him to levitate in a prone position and see what we can draw out of his subconscious." Adam rises quickly, grabbing one end of the table.

Keith is quick to his feet, helping him move the table to the side of the dining room. From there they move the other three chairs and set them in the living room. Adam sighs, staring at the dead leech for a moment before he dips his fingers into the remaining blood. He crouches down to the floor, slowly drawing a circle just outside of where Lance's body is. After it's complete, he checks the jar, tilts it upside down to let whatever remained drip into the center of the circle. Keith motions to Lance, a questioning look on his face.

"This is a lot easier than the initial spell." Adam's voice is gentle as motions for Keith to stand by his side. "I'll teach you this part now -- it may come in handy if you find something here."

The young necromancer moves around the circle, careful not to disturb the blood in any way. "Okay, so what do I do?"

"Take your Scribe and point it towards Lance. He has your contract -- his body will respond and move to what you need. Now, carefully move the Scribe up and towards you. Gently. This will lift his body and bring it to the circle."

Keith exhales, taking care to follow the instructions exactly. 

He pulls the Scribe too quickly towards himself, nearly flinging Lance's ghostly-body across the room. He winces, looking up at Adam who pinches the bridge of his nose and leans over to help him guide Lance into place. He should have known better, really. Keith's impulsive and impatient-- this was bound to happen eventually. And this case? Was not going to be an easy one. Adam eases Lance into the center of the circle, before releasing Keith's wrist.

"Okay. Next, you'll be sure to stand on the outside of the circle, facing the top of his head." He points to the opposite side of where he is. "Then place the tip of the Scribe to his temple."

Keith only hesitates once he's in position. He looks at Adam for some reassurance, then very carefully follows the instructions. His whole body shivers as a shock shoots up his arm, his jaw dropping a bit from the sensation. He keeps his arm steady, level as he takes a deep breath.

"Now pull back from his temple, outward away from his body -- but not towards you."

Pulling memories out of a ghost was a lot like pulling teeth: surprisingly difficult without the proper training. He was fighting against the subconscious, having to strain to pull outward towards the dining room. Determined, he continues to tug, goosebumps decorating his skin as he struggled to pull his hand back. He closed his eyes, exhaling as he steadies his hand. When he opens his eyes the sun was bright, blinding, causing him to wince and attempt to shield his vision.

Where was he?

While his eyes adjusted, he could hear the cries of seagulls overhead, the laughter of children running up and down the sand as the water crashed against the shore. He tries to blink away the mist from his eyes, everything he was looking at was grainy, unfocused as he stumbles towards the water's edge. He could feel the salt against his tongue as he took a deep breath, trying to get his mind to understand what exactly it was seeing. He finds himself on his knees in the wet sand, staring out across the horizon - trapped in a memory from long ago. 

Everyone seemed to ignore him, passing by, passing through him as they walked down the beach. Couples walking hand in hand, children playing, speaking in rapid Spanish that he couldn't understand -- it all sounded too far away. Keith couldn't focus, his mind racing to understand how he could be on the beach thousands of miles from home, torn by the feeling of being _home_ but understanding he couldn't possibly be. He shuddered, he was here for a reason, and that reason was to help Lance.

Lance whose memories he was trapped in.

"Okay." He finds his voice, distorted even in his own ears. "What am I looking for?"


	3. This Part of You Still Remains

_What am I looking for?_

Keith slowly picks himself up off the ground, brushing sand off his knees. Everything moved in slow motion, memories pieced together through magic, and yet there was so much Keith could see clearly despite the grainy appearance. The seagulls, the ocean, the laughter -- all ringing clear in his ears as he walks along the shore's edge. Where was the laughter coming from? He could see the seagulls as they circle overhead, feel the cool spray of water as it crashes against the sand. 

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

The sun shone brightly overhead, barely warming his skin as he continued down the shoreline. Laughter echoed in his mind, lifting his head up, looking in a daze to try and find where it was coming from. He squinted as he looked around, his vision was like watching an old-fashioned film: not quite black and white, but grainy, like a VHS that was slowly deteriorating. He had to get closer, closer to the sound that would fade in and out, as if the noise was running alongside him, taunting him at every turn of his head. 

" _Vamos, Leandro!_ " 

Finally! Something other than creepy children laughing and static. He turns his attention to a large group of people setting up near a quiet cove. Two young boys are barreling ahead down the coastline, racing to see who could get to their family first. They laugh -- the same laugh he kept hearing -- as they both skids to a stop, the taller of the two have come out ahead. He wears a triumphant grin, pumping his hands into the air in victory as the shorter boy walks up to him. They start to shove at each other, giggling all the while before they settle down.

The taller boy, Leandro he figured, was very animated. Talking with his hands, laughter ringing out pure and clear, eyes lighting up the more he talked about their plans for the day. Keith didn't sound a word of it, but even he thought he'd be a willing participant with someone who encouraging and honest. 

There has to be something he was missing.

He was determined to find out what.

* * *

Adam was at a loss. Every time he looked at Keith his mind raced with endless possibilities of him getting lost in the memoryscape, or how he should have taught him better. Or how he should have allowed him to start taking contracts (but his ability to jump into things without knowing the full consequences had him hesitate) and how he should have brought him before the coven. He kept his Scribe steady, taking a slow, deep breath to settle his nerves. Keith wasn't stupid, and he was sure he'd figure out what he needed to do before he got too lost. Adam had faith in his abilities despite his lack of training. Keith was incredibly gifted, and he should be able to navigate through just fine.

Except...it was taking too long.

He should have prepared him more before giving him instructions-- but everything was time sensitive. The longer they waited to enter into the mindscape, the less likely they'd find what tied Lance to this world. If Keith was unable to find it, unable to escape? He'd lose his position among the coven, the Council of Duat might revoke his license to practice-- no. No, he was panicking and that's not what Keith needed right now.

"What is going on?"

He turns his head to the door, eyes widening. "I revoke your access inside. You are no longer invited."

"Adam?!" The newcomer was frantic, setting down several paper bags just outside of the door frame as he tries to take in the scene before him. "You can't -- What the hell is going on?"

"It's complicated and I need you to _stay there and be quiet_. I can't have you disturbing the spell. The last thing I need is for you to distract me, Taka."

"Fine. But as soon as it's done, you let me in and you explain."

Adam watches as the newcomer sits down. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and he wishes he didn't look at him. His steel gaze narrows in silent anger, knowing full well that as soon as he's invited back across the threshold he'll demand answers to what on earth is going on. He turns his attention back to Keith, whose violet eyes were rolled up into his head as he stood still. _Come on, kid._ He thinks, trying his best not to look worried. _You can do this._

Silence falls between them him. Adam concentrating on keeping the spell active, before the insistent _tap, tap_ , tapping of the other man's foot starts to draw his attention back to the door. He huffs, a little frustrated at the noise, but he does his best to ignore it, turning back to his apprentice. The longer he ignores it, the louder it starts to get, when he finally turns his head again to see the other man standing in the doorway once more.

" _Takashi_. Please. Will you stop that?"

"Stop what? The tapping? I don't know, _Adam_ , can I?" His voice was stern, laced with frustration as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't keep me out here forever."

"I need to concentrate." 

"You're one of the most powerful Necromancers I know and a little tapping is making you falter?"

"No, Takashi! This conversation is distracting me because I'm worried about Keith. He's never done anything on this level before and I _need you to please stop talking to me so I can concentrate_." 

Silence fell between them once more, thick and strangling, as Takashi ends up taking a seat. There's only so much he can do while being stuck outside of the room except listen to what Adam has to say and _it infuriates him_. Of all the myths vampires had, being invited into a building was one of those that were true. He takes a moment to breathe, calming his mind before running his fingers through his hair. He had so many questions -- how long had they been doing this? Why did he let Keith, whose training was still very basic, do something so dangerous? 

He loved the guy but sometimes he didn't have foresight.

His eyes travel to Keith, and the mysterious ghost that was floating above the circle. In the time he's known Adam, he still didn't quite understand how the magic worked, but he could analyze a situation. He's seen this spell before: the ghost doesn't know what ties them to the mortal realm and is seeking guidance. The Necromancer has to delve into their memories to track down the last thing they remember and pull it to the forefront of their consciousness, and one wrong move and the Necromancer can lose themselves in the memories. It was dangerous, but that came with the territory. 

Keith was exceptionally skilled but lacked experience.

He watches as Keith's arm moves back, drawing the Scribe away from the young ghost's temple. A silver strand is tied to the end (the memory that they were looking for) dragging it outward towards the kitchen away from his body. _At least he got that much instruction_ , Takashi thought. A loud CRACK echoes down the hall, and he's immediately back to Keith, who is slowly falling back against the floor. The ghost remains where he is, held up by Adam whose stance betrays his worry.

The Scribe falls from Keith's hand, rolling away from him towards the bookcase as he lays still on the floor. His breathing (thank fuck he's breathing) is labored, gasping for breath with each inhale. His violet eyes open abruptly before he's flipped himself onto his hands and knees, expelling water from his lungs on to the wooden floor. Adam slowly lowers the ghost, before crossing the room (being aware enough to move around the circle) to examine Keith as he continues to cough up water. 

"Takashi -- I invite you in." He manages to say in a calm, steady voice as he cautiously puts his hands on Keith's back.

Takashi doesn't need to be told twice. He crosses the threshold swiftly, moving to the kitchen and pulling open every drawer in a calm panic. He quickly snatches up a dishtowel and brings it over to Adam who has started to inspect the water on his floor.

"Keith are you all right?" He asks quietly, offering him the towel. 

"Shiro?" Keith blinks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago." He gives him a small smile. "Let's get you cleaned up. Adam, can I take him?"

It takes a moment for him to respond, adjusting his glasses as he leans in closer. "Yes, get him in bed. He needs rest. I'll deal with Lance."

"Lance?"

"The ghost, Takashi." 

"Right." He steels himself before he assists Keith to his feet and helps him down the hall.

Adam reaches into the water, running his fingers along the wet wood before bringing them to his lips. It was just water, thankful it didn't reek of bile as he inspects it closer. It smelled like -- he licks the tip of his fingers -- and tastes like the ocean. He raises a brow, before turning towards Lance who was still passed out on his floor in the spell circle.

"Seawater, huh? What happened to you?" He asks before he moves to lift Lance once more.

Keith, Adam's realizes, has stumbled into a contract he's not sure he'll be able to fulfill.


	4. I'm making sure there's a pact to make it harder for me

Waiting was difficult.

Takashi tapped his foot impatiently as he sat at the dining room table. It took them a few hours to clean up the blood and sea water that covered Adam's floor--and he still didn't have all the answers. Adam darted around to numerous bookshelves, pulling down old, leather-bound books, frantic for information. Every book he pulls off the shelf, he flips through the worn pages quickly then tosses it aside. 

"You could tell me what you're looking for."

"Quiet." Adam snaps, before tossing aside a scroll. 

"You don't have to make a mess. If you would just tell me what you're looking for I could help you."

"Takashi. Please I need you to just--"

"Adam." He pinches the bridge of his nose, cutting him off. "Take a deep breath. I'm your partner. Let me help you. I've read almost every book and scroll in your apartment. Just tell me what you need." 

He crosses the room to carefully cup Adam's cheeks, moving his thumb under his eyes. He knows that he's stressed, knows that whatever his charge got up to has him scrambling to find an answer. He watches as he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and calm himself down. There was only so much the vampire could do for his mortal(ish) boyfriend but this was at least one of them. Adam takes a moment to focus on Takashi before him, trying to clear his racing mind. He leans forward, allowing himself to relax in his strong arms.

"Okay, okay." He pulls back just enough to kiss Takashi's jaw. "Your heart is beating. When did you...?"

"That's a long story. Let's focus on one thing at a time, yeah?" He chuckles a bit. "So tell me what you need and what Keith's gotten himself into."

"He jumped into a contract," Adam mumbles against his neck, staying close. "He promised to help this boy get his body back and I don't know how to tell him it might be impossible."

"What happens if he can't complete the contract?"

"That's where it gets complicated." Adam sighs, reluctantly pulling away from him to return to the stack of tomes on his dining room table. To think just a few hours ago the table was spattered with blood. "There are three things that could happen."

"Okay. Number one?"

"Lance doesn't get his body back, and the consequence of a failed contract of this caliber is isolation." Adam rubs his face. "Two: Lance doesn't get his body back, and instead inhabits Keith's body for the rest of his mortal days as he'll be stripped of his magic."

"And three?" Takashi takes his seat next to him, accepting the first book Adam hands over.

"Lance gets his body back, and Keith accomplishes a task that even the most skilled necromancers have difficulty with." Adam smiles a little at that. "Keith's talented. There's a slim chance he'll be able to complete his contract, but it's a chance I know he'll take."

"So you want to make sure he has everything he needs before he starts his journey." He chuckles a bit, flipping through a few pages. "Okay. Where do we begin?"

"First we need to isolate and study every instance of this situation." Adam adjusts his glasses. "We'll need to borrow some books from the coven for historical reference."

"You know I'm now allowed in the coven library." Takashi winces, thinking back. "They still haven't forgotten about that." 

"No." Adam grins. "Neither have I."

" _Adam!_ "

The tension surrounding them eased, laughing easily as Takashi's blush slowly crept up his face. After all this time he was still easily embarrassed, but that's part of his charm. Adam sighs happily, grateful for the support despite the serious nature of this contract. He reached for Takashi's hand, taking it carefully, his touch feather-light as he starts to trace his thumb so carefully over his Takashi's index finger. There were those in the coven who didn't understand why he continued to be with his partner. Takashi was the calm to his storm, his rock that withstood the torrent as he reeled with the morality of being a necromancer. Vampire or not, Takashi was calm, collected, and genuinely kind as they worked together for a future for the occult. 

They're silent, working in tandem as they read separate books. Takashi would dog-ear a page, hopeful that it would be something that could help, before moving on. Adam, on the other hand, kept a pen in his mouth, scribbling in notes, ripping pieces of paper to mark each section that he needed to refer back to. The problem with necromatic history was, up until a few hundred years ago, it was strictly an oral telling. While some continue to stubbornly stick to the old ways, Adam has made it his life's goal to record their tales. Stories of fear and love, of learning and growth they couldn't bear to lose as time passed and the elders finally took their final resting place among those who came before. Their inner sanctum held hundreds of the dead, whose stories have been lost to time -- stories Adam was forbidden from reviving out of respect of their final wishes.

Hundreds of the books in the coven's library were written by him. Spells recovered from scrolls he scoured from Scandinavia, books about revival from the far north of Russia, death rituals from cultures around the world that would have been lost if not for him. Adam's work has been both touted as a modern revival of the art and a sacrilegious act that should be punished. There's only so many times he can say he is infinitely grateful for the Coven of Duat to show continued support and cloister him when needed.

"You implied that due to the nature of Lance's death, this contract would be near impossible to complete, correct? Why?" Takashi interrupted his thoughts, his pen ceasing to scratch upon the page before him.

"He drowned." He held up his hand, knowing the next question would be _But how do you know that?_ "When Keith returned from the memoryscape, he vomited sea water. He was drowning as he wandered through Lance's mind."

"You were letting him _drown_?!" 

"Sort of? It's part of the learning experience." Adam rolled his eyes, returning to his notes. "That's why we're letting them both recover while we do some research."

" _Sort of_? Adam, you're going to give me a heart attack." Takashi buries his face into his hands, groaning at the thought.

"Your heart only beats when you have blood circulation from feeding. Good luck with that one."

"So why is it difficult for victims of drowning to be revived?" The vampire immediately changes the subject. 

"Their bodies don't stay in one place and go where the current takes them. If they were never recovered -- which I assume he wasn't -- most drowning victims pass on without regret, or haunt the sea in bloody vengeance."

"Like the sirens." Takashi rubs his chin in thought.

"They _are_ the sirens." Adam corrected. "Sirens are ghosts drowned a sea. Luring people to their death because they cannot return to the living."

"Except Lance isn't a siren."

Which perplexed them both. If Lance died at sea, there must have been a reason for him to not seek out some misplaced revenge. The sea was unpredictable, the weather a constantly changing mood as it indiscriminately picked its victims. Thankfully, death at sea was not nearly as common as it used to be, but it still happened. So why did Lance die?

"Did Keith say anything about how Lance died when you carried him to bed?"

"No." Takashi sighed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just that he was exhausted. The moment I put him in bed he was out."

"We may need to wait for him to wake up." Which wasn't ideal. "When he does he'll need to write down every detail he remembers, no matter how small. The more we have, the less likely he'll fail."

"We still need to find any other account in history that notes of something like this happening. I've certainly never heard of it before."

"You haven't been around necromancers long, Taka." He teases. "I've heard of similar circumstances, but never a scenario where the person died and his body traveled to the point his soul is bound to the shore. I can only assume this is extremely rare and often never handled due to the difficulty."

"So tell me, love. Could you complete this contract?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I may be more skilled than Keith, but the challenge is still the same. We share the same amount of knowledge on this subject-- which is that we know nothing."

Nothing. He's written countless stories of strange revivals and he can't recall a single time someone encountered anything similar. Ghosts can manifest for a number of reasons to request a revival from a necromancer, and not all will agree to the terms. Some lives are simply not worth attempting to assist, and some are too long dead for one to know the truth of their deeds. Utilizing the memoryscape was the only way to ensure a proper contract can be drawn up-- but Keith had already forgone formalities and now he had to suffer the consequences. 

"If you need to go to the coven, I can handle Keith and Lance when they wake." Takashi smiles, fangs flashing. "I'll keep looking here for answers."

"Thank you, Taka." He stands, moving to kiss his partner's temple. "I shouldn't be long. If you find anything, let me know."

"I will."

"And when Keith wakes up, make him write down everything," Adam added, as he reached for his coat.

"I will." Takashi laughed, rising to walk with him to the door. "Go, before I follow you to the coven again."

"Just-- make sure it's detailed?" He leans forward, kissing his lips softly, pulling away before it got too heated. "And be safe. This could be dangerous."

"Don't worry about me. I'll take care of it. Now _go_. I'll be here when you return."

"Good." Another kiss. "I'll see you soon." 

Reluctantly he pulled away, heading down the hall away from his apartment, his mind racing with possibilities of what was to come. Takashi leans against the doorway, watching as he disappears down the stairs with a smile. This wasn't his world, at least not entirely, but he would do what he could to be the support Adam needed. He shuts the door slowly, returning to the table in the kitchen to pick up where he left off. It was a good thing he didn't need sleep during the night; he could stay up as late as needed to see what he could find. 

"Shiro?"

He nearly missed it, glancing up from the book to see Keith standing in the hall, looking worse for wear. "Hey, Keith. You should be resting."

"Couldn't sleep." He mutters, joining him at the table.

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah. Drowning." He mumbles. "I keep drowning."

_Oh boy._ Takashi thinks. "Why don't we talk about that?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @ShatterinSeconds for the inspiration. I hope this is what you had in mind!


End file.
